Tricks or Treats
by LadyDivine91
Summary: Lydia is about to pack it in for the evening, bid the trick or treaters adieu, when the oddest pair of Halloween revelers come knocking at her door. Aziraphale x Crowley.


_Knock-knock-knock!_

_Knock-knock-knock!_

_Knock-knock-knockknock-knockknock-knock-knock!_

Lydia shuffles to the front door in her carpet slippers, bowl of candy in hand, rolling her eyes at that obnoxious knock. If she has to listen to another parent pound on her door in a kitschy, song-inspired rhythm, she's going to start handing out scotch eggs instead of treats.

She swears to _God _she will.

_Knock-knock-knock!_

_Knock-knock-knock!_

Lydia groans, but stops when, on the other side of the door, she hears a man's voice say, "Quit it, angel! I'm pretty sure they get the hint. No more knocking needed."

She smiles at that voice.

It's smooth, attractive, dripping with sex appeal.

A man with a sexy voice _and_ common sense. A rare commodity these days.

But then she remembers that he called someone _angel_, which means he's married, accompanied by their gaggle of kids, and she groans again.

Halloween is definitely not the night to be scoping out hot guys, even if they come right up to her door.

She stops shy of grabbing the doorknob, debating whether or not she's going to open it. It's not exactly late – 9:15 at the latest. But considering the swarm she'd had to endure starting at five, she doesn't think any reasonable adult would blame her for turning her lights out on whoever's out there, plopping down in front of the tube, and holding her own private _Doctor Who_ marathon while gnawing on what candy is left in the bowl.

She never had kids of her own. Never wanted them. So she never had to endure the yearly ritual of dressing them up like the latest popular cartoon characters and doing the rounds door to door begging for sweets. But for some reason, this year, doing her part by feeding the neighborhood rug-rats became too much too soon.

The urge to go through with _Plan Hunker-Down-and-Hide_ becomes nearly overwhelming when she peeks a few feet to the right and realizes she can't go through with it.

Not this time.

Not with this batch or trick-or-treaters.

Not because of some deeply invested sense of noble purpose.

But because she's left her curtains open, and the people on the doorstep can see her standing there, contemplating life.

She only sees the parents – two men standing side by side. The older of the two (she presumes by his white hair) smiles brightly at her and waves. There's something so wholesome in the twinkle in his eyes. A childlike glee. She doesn't have the heart to blow him off. Besides, the man he's standing next to – dressed all in black, tight-fitting jeans and flaming red hair, the perfect dash of sinister to the other man's sweet – is a little too tempting for her not to see in person.

She squares her shoulders, clears her throat. She walks the two steps to the door and opens it. She smiles down at the two men on the stairs … but that smile sags a tad when she sees it's just them and no one else.

Not a child in sight.

Normally, she would be thrilled, because that might mean the man in black could be available, but seeing as this is a holiday where the company of children is to be expected, these two men might be whackos.

Or serial killers.

The men are both handsome, but neither in costume. The older gentleman (not too much older than his companion, she realizes now that he's no longer obscured by her dusty glass window) is dressed entirely in pale cream and sky blue. His well-worn velvet vest reminds her strongly of her nana's favorite sofa and that puts her at ease. The man beside him, taller and thinner, is dressed like a rich undertaker: snakeskin shoes on his feet and a pair of dark glasses resting on the bridge of his nose she swears she's seen in the window at Ferragamo, which means they cost way more than she'll ever be able to afford in her life.

If she had to make a guess, she'd say they're dressed as an angel and a demon.

She doesn't know why, given she has no real evidence. It's just a feeling she gets looking at the two of them.

The man in white holds out a wooden bowl filled to the brim with treats and declares brightly, "Trick or Treat!"

"My ... _goodness_!" Lydia replies with mild confusion. "Aren't you two a little _old_ to be trick or treating?"

"Halloween has no age limit," the man in black says dryly, a line she's certain his friend has persuaded him to say seeing as the wattage on his smile dials up when he hears it.

"I see ..."

"Here you go, my dear," the angel (since that's how she has decided to think of him) says, holding his bowl up higher. "Take what you'd like."

"Oh! Uh …" Lydia appraises the angel and the demon, more confused than she's ever been in her life. She'd think the two were playing at something except the angel seems so incandescently happy to be offering her treats, she can't imagine he's trying to pull anything over on her. "You're … giving _me_ candy?

"Yes! You've been handing out treats all night long. Don't you think you deserve a little something?

"Why ... yes!" Lydia chuckles, both touched and bemused. "Thank you for the thought and all, but I already have more candy than I know what to do with!" She holds out her own bowl as evidence.

The man in black steps forward. He slides his glasses down his nose and looks up at her with yellow, slitted eyes. _Serpent's_ eyes. She bites her lower lip. She was right! At least, _half_ right. He has dressed as a demon – costume contacts and all! "There's Schnapps in there, too," he informs her, tilting his head toward the bowl.

Her eyes light up. "You're kidding! Oh dear God, I've been _dying_ for a drink! And I don't have a drop in the house!"

"You're welcome to them then," the angel says.

Lydia looks at the bowl in disbelief. There, lying on top, are five small bottles of Schnapps. But they weren't there before. She doesn't think they were. Granted, she only took a quick glance at the bowl when the angel first presented it, but she thought it was filled with chocolate bars, popcorn balls, and peanut brittle. She takes one bottle, but the angel nudges the bowl at her.

"Go ahead and have them all."

"Really?"

"Absolutely!"

"Thank you!" she says, plucking them out quickly, trying not to appear too greedy in her gratitude. "Oh and they're _peach_! Peach is my favorite! How did you …?" Lydia looks at the angel, then the demon, her head shaking slightly. "But you couldn't have known, right? It's a lucky coincidence."

"The _bowl_ knows," the demon says, tapping his temple.

"That's right," the angel concurs. "The bowl does tend to know what people like best."

"Right," Lydia says skeptically. _It's a coincidence_, she thinks. _That's all_. It's Halloween. And even though these men don't seem dangerous, they're probably messing with her a little. Still, there's no harm in believing that they are what they seem to be – an angel and a demon, carrying a magical bowl from house to house, granting the wishes of tired housewives and maudlin single women. "Well, bless you! Bless you both!"

"You're very welcome!" the angel says but the demon jerks back, shaking his head and pinching his lips as if he's suddenly smelt something foul.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah …" He grabs the angel's elbow and pulls him down the stairs. "Steady on with the blessing there. Enjoy your booze."

"I will!" Lydia clutches her precious cargo to her chest, fully prepared to pack it in for the evening with no regrets.

"Oh, and enjoy your _Doctor Who_ marathon, my dear," the angel calls over his shoulder with a wink.

Lydia's eyes pop. Her mouth drops. In the seconds that follow, she furiously scans her memories of their conversation, searching for the moment she mentioned that was what she was thinking of doing before she opened the door.

But before her scanning has finished she knows – she didn't make a one.

"Nine has always been my favorite," the angel continues.

"Really?" the demon says, offering the angel his arm as Lydia watches them start down the street. "I fancy Ten, meself."

"Oh, no. No no no, dear."

"Why not? What does Nine got that Ten doesn't?"

"He's a _bad boy_, as they say, with a heart of gold." The angel chuckles, resting his head on the demon's shoulder. The demon, for his part, gravitates toward him, his body bowing in the angel's direction. "It's my one true weakness, my love."


End file.
